


The Fear that Binds Us

by Lacrymosa_91



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Pack Dynamics, Panic Attacks, Post Season/Series 02, Suicidal Thoughts, Wolf Pack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-19
Updated: 2013-03-19
Packaged: 2017-12-05 19:58:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/727335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacrymosa_91/pseuds/Lacrymosa_91
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He is not a monster anymore. </p><p>The monster is dead. It died six months ago. Pierced by claws, murdered… annihilated. The monster is dead. </p><p>Yet, Jackson fears its return every single time he closes his eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fear that Binds Us

It is six months before they let him out. Six months before they let him experience his first, real full moon. Out. In the open. Under the sky and among the trees. Free, without chains, bars and walls to restrict and stop him. It should make him feel relieved and elated, but the anxiety crawling under his skin is there, no matter how hard he tries to ignore it.

His shoulders are slightly stiff, pace slow as he steps down the steps of the porch, his sneakers making squishing sounds in the thick mud. The air is unusually cool even for November, fresh and light, the scent of rain heavy and tangible. It had been raining a lot lately and the storm from a day ago has caused the temperature to drop over night. It feels like the woods are breathing, as if sighing from under the thin cool veil the rain had wrapped around the valley.

Jackson inhales deeply, and his eyes fall closed for a second. His nostrils fill with the smell of wet leaves and pine, with the scent of thousands living creatures running through the quiet woods, crawling over branches and flying through the fresh cool air. It is one of the few things that give him a fleeting feeling of comfort, it is calming to be so aware of everything around you, of so many throbbing hearts, of so much life.

Cool wind comes from the north, the thick gray clouds overhead shifting, scattering to reveal a glorious full moon. Moonlight, cold, bright and sharp as a blade cuts through the darkness enveloping the woods, pools in the little clearing before the Hale mansion, leaching color from everything it touches. Jackson feels his skin pricking as silvery beams slide against his face, down his neck, kiss his fingertips. He lets out a muffled gasp, heart erupting in fast, irregular beats as he squeezes his eyes shut and bites at his lip.

It is different. It is so not how it feels like when he is locked in the basement of the nearly tumbled down mansion, when he is surrounded by walls, chained to the floor like a wild animal. Down there he has always been able to feel the tug, the overwhelming force of the moon singing in his veins, making his blood boil and his throat raw, raw with sounds primal, wild and inhuman. Being able to feel it crawl over his skin, to bath in its light is so much stronger. It makes him uneasy, it awakens the wild part of him, the part that Jackson is still fighting to get acquainted to. It pulls away from his grasp what he so desperately tries to cling to, it takes away his self control.

"It's amazing isn't it?" Scott's voice is quiet, filled with excitement and Jackson barely suppresses  a flinch when he feels a hand on his shoulder. "Calm down, Jackson. Everything will be alright. Just breathe and leave yourself to it."

"How do you know?" He whispers. "Why are you so sure?"

"I just know." Scott whispers softly as he squeezes at his shoulder. "Besides, you aren't gonna run on your own."

Jackson sighs and bends his head, his hand coming up to rub at his face. Scott is not even part of the pack, he does not live in the demolished mansion. Scott is not one of Derek's betas but he is there. He has been since Jackson turned into an insomniac wreck. His nemesis, the person who Jackson used to despise and loath is the one to hold him at night when he wakes up screaming and crying. Jackson has spent so many nights in Scott's arms that being in the other boy's embrace has become the closest to security he has ever felt. They never talk about it, don't even mention it, not even Derek who has turned into the occasional third party crammed into Jackson's small, rust eaten bed during long sleepless nights when Jackson cannot sleep, when he is plagued by nightmares.

"What if I lose it?" He breathes out, eyes avoiding the other boy's. "I might hurt someone… I might-"

"You won't." Derek's voice is a deep rumble as he comes out of the burned mansion. Jackson sees Boyd, Erica and Isaac following close behind, their movements urgent and eager as they gather together in the small clearing. Their golden eyes are glowing with barely contained, primal excitement, pupils blown out. "You are running with me, Jackson." 

Jackson manages a curt nod. His shoulders twitching ever so slightly as he feels Scott pulling away, his hand lingering over Jackson's neck.

"I won't be far behind." Is all Scott says before taking a stance next to Boyd, his eyes bright golden under the silvery moonlight, jaw suddenly tight.

Jackson can't prevent his whole body from tensing as Derek slowly approaches him. The Alpha stops right before him, the heat radiating from his large figure making Jackson's breath grow heavier, slower. It is something Jackson has no control over, something his body has learned to associate Derek's presence with during the last six months.

Heat.

Unlike all other werewolves, unlike the kind he now belongs to Jackson runs cold, he has been for six months now. At night, when the nightmares come, when he cannot breathe and the cold is so overbearing that he feels it bone deep, that it nearly hurts, Derek's heated body wrapped around his feels like the thin line between life and death.

The pack does not know what happens in the dead of night, behind the last door down the hall. It is not something Jackson discusses with Derek either, and he prefers it stays that way.

Over Derek's shoulder Jackson can see Isaac fidgeting impatiently behind the Alpha's back, hands twitching, his claws unsheathed. Being out during full moon is something the betas are used to, something they anticipate, need and crave for. To Jackson who has come to associate the tingling in his muscles with the cold cement floor of the house's basement, with the bite of chains into his wrists such excitement is alien. It is one more thing that makes him different, one more reason for them to isolate him for.

_Jackson is a murderer._

_Jackson is a douche._

_Jackson is always cold._

_Jackson does not belong._

He wonders how they would react if they knew. How they would call him if they find out about the seizures, about the nightmares, about the fact that he is actually even more fucked up than they have ever imagined.

_Jackson is a freak._

He hopes he will never have the chance to find out.

His jaw clenches as his eyes meet Isaac's golden orbs and the beta merely huffs, head tilting to one side as if listening to something Jackson cannot hear.

"Go." Derek growls without even turning around. Erica and Isaac let out breathy, pleased sounds while Boyd merely nods before they all turn and make their way to the dark woods, their pace eager, fast. Scott lingers long enough to give Jackson a reassuring nod before following the pack.

It is only him and Derek now and Jackson can feel his heart pounding in his ears, throat suddenly dry as he swallows thickly. Derek's eyes are blood red, his hands firm and warm as he cups Jackson's jaw. It catches Jackson off guard. It always does. It is always there, that initial hitch of breath whenever Derek touches him, whenever that unexpected, soothing heat seeps through his cold skin.

" Follow the instinct, Jackson. " The Alpha whispers, eyes red and deep and never leaving Jackson's." Do not fight it. It is what you are now. It is your nature."

Jackson nods and takes a deep breath. His eyes falling closed as he steadies himself, lets himself be taken, lets the wolf lead him. It is scary in a way he has never experienced before and it makes him feel stronger, stronger than he has been in months. His eyes slide slowly open, no longer human, but not golden, either. Blue. Bright neon blue that eats the darkness, that not even the silver moonlight can drink the color from.

Derek smiles at him. A small smile, a barely noticeable soft curl of lips but it is there and Jackson feels his chest clench, a heavy breath leaving him. It feels strangely intimate, as intimate as the scratch of Derek's stubble against his neck when they lie pressed together in the small bed. Sudden heat crawls up his neck and Jackson pulls away slightly, bends his head before it reaches his face.

"I will be running next to you."

"Okay." Jackson breathes out huskily. His claws extend slowly and now his wrists are not bound together, not pulled down by heavy chains as he flexes his fingers, getting a feel of them.

"Good boy." The Alpha drawls before eventually stepping back, eyes glowing as he makes his way to the woods.

Jackson follows.

 

* * *

 

Everything is turning into a blur around him. Sounds, shapes, smells, they are all blending together, blurring and shifting into a complex colorful picture that intoxicates his senses. He sees everything, yet nothing. The woods are moving around him dark and fragrant, breathing in cool moist gasps, teeming with life. His lungs expand avidly with deep hungry breaths and he takes it all in, inhales it, lets it fill his head. Jackson feels dizzy, breathless. Alive. For the first time in half a year he feels exhilarated, whole. He feels free.

Jackson runs. He pushes himself to his limits, feet barely touching the wet ground. The night air whistles around his ears, licks at his face, sneaks under his shirt. There is no pain in his muscles, no burning when he runs faster than any human. It feels like flying.

He can hear Boyd and Erica exchange muffled breathy words,  he hears Isaac's panting, the even fast tap of their feet on the damp forest floor. Their hearts are beating as wildly as his is, follow the same primal rhythm and in a short fleeting moment he feels like one of them, feels like a part from the whole.

Scott is running close behind him. Jackson can smell him, smell the sweat and the scent of the woods dancing over his skin, in his hair. Scott's breathing is harsh but rhythmical, loud in Jackson's ears. It is comforting, soothing in a way Jackson still does not understand. It makes him feel secure no matter how ardently he will deny it in front of himself later.

Derek's presence is more tangible than everything else around him. It makes Jackson push himself harder. It makes him want to go faster, to do better, better than Boyd and Erica and Isaac. It has been so long since he had given himself to that urge, so long since he had felt the taste of triumph on his tongue. The Alpha's feet pound the wet earth, his heart a loud powerful staccato in Jackson's ears, nearly drowning out the whistle of the cold air.

Then the north wind brings a fresh whiff of a new scent. It is sharp, warm, almost intoxicating. Jackson's eyes fall closed for a short moment as he takes a deep breath and inhales the hot spicy smell. It makes his teeth tingle, blood frenzied, boiling, pounding in his temples. His legs start pushing him forward even harder, faster and he follows it, follows that hot, tempting scent that makes his mouth water and his eyes burn brighter, the blue piercing the darkness as a dagger.

He senses the others scattering, twigs and pine needles crunching dully under their feet as they fan out in a wide arc. Their pace is faster, urgent. They all run with purpose now, their hearts beating like heavy drums, loud and impatient, pounding in Jackson's ears making his blood rush faster, hotter. Derek's howl echoes through the night, loud, sharp and clear, dripping with a challenge and the sound of it resonates through Jackson's whole being, sends him into a full-body shiver.

Answering throaty howls echo through the dark woods. The sound of them is crawling over the wet ground, climbing up the tall pines and rising into the night to reach for the moon and Jackson joins them, adds his own to them, follows the insistent call that comes from deep within, from a place dark, deep and hungry.

The hunt has started.

The teasing scent of the prey bleeds through the cold damp air, leaving a hot, sharp trail and it is so clear, so strong that he could follow it with his eyes closed. It lures him deeper into the woods, calls to him, beckons him closer. Jackson runs ahead, faster than the others, faster than Scott and Derek, faster than the wind. He can hear the prey's frantic heartbeat echoing inside his head, feels the heat of its flesh, smells the sharp stink of its fear and it makes him lightheaded.

Suddenly his eyes catch an urgent movement on his left. A hollow snap of branches echoes through the night and he finally sees it, blue eyes flashing brighter with exhilaration, mouth filling with saliva as he swallows thickly. Jackson stops so suddenly, so abruptly that his sneakers dig into the mushy dirt, his chest heaving frantically as his spine straightens like a string.

It is a deer.

Jackson sniffs at the air urgently, the tendons in his bare neck bulging as he throws his head back and inhales, fills his lungs with it, tastes it, tongue running slowly over his sharp canines.

It's a female. A doe.

He sees the animal's ears twitching slightly, black velvet nose sniffing anxiously, eyes large and brown and deep as it stares at him, thick steam leaving its nostrils in fast small puffs.

She knows that he is there. She can feel him. Yet, she does not move.

Jackson is frozen on his place. There is an endless moment of silence, of stillness and trepidation. He feels nothing but the heat of the animal's flesh. He hears nothing but the anxious, frantic thudding of the doe's small heart and the strong wet, compelling sound of blood pumping through her veins. Then..

A feral, throaty roar tears at the heavy silence.

The doe flinches, muscles straining as her hooves dig deeply into the slick ground. She crouches slightly, ready to run into the night, to disappear. She doesn't manage a single step before Jackson's razor sharp teeth sink savagely into her long graceful neck. The doe kicks in frantic, panicked frenzy and Jackson holds on tighter, claws digging into the deer's soft stomach, teeth sinking further and further and further into her throat. He can taste her pulse, fast and terrified, heavy against his tongue as he slowly throttles her.

The moment the hot coppery tang of her blood hits his tongue Jackson's neon blue eyes nearly roll back in their sockets. The warm fluid fills his mouth, drips heavily down his lips and pale throat, soaks the front of his shirt. A husky growl rumbles from deep within his chest and the sound of it is wild, feral, inhuman.

The doe's long slender legs kick weakly a few more times, her last wet agonizing gasps filling Jackson's ears. He can feel her heart throbbing against his chest, weakly drumming against his ribs in stuttering, painful beats. His claws sink deeper, tearing her soft stomach open in the exact moment when she breathes out her last.

The doe's entrails spill heavily on the muddy forest floor with a dull wet sound. Hot, crimson, steaming blood coats Jackson's hands and forearms, drenching the sleeves of his shirt to the elbows. It feels thick and warm, so warm against his cold skin. He is shivering all over, shaking like a leaf, his knees suddenly weak and unsteady. Jackson is high on his first kill. His jaw flexes urgently and he chews, swallows, warm meat filling his mouth, the taste rich, heavy on his tongue.

Slowly but surely the kill grows cold in his arms and his grip loosens slightly as he eventually collapses on his knees. The blood slows, not a constant flow now, but heavy lazy drips that pool around his knees, staining his jeans.

He senses the pack's presence now. He has not even heard when they have come to a halt meters away from him. Their heavy panting loud, resounding in the quiet darkness. Jackson can smell them so clearly, he smells the sharp, complex, jumbled mixture of their mingled emotions and it almost makes him as lightheaded as the taste of blood on his tongue.

Their golden orbs glow in the pitch black, hungry, envious and exhilarated and Jackson pushes himself to his feet again as his jaw finally releases what is left of the doe's neck. The dead animal's carcass drops heavily on the wet earth with a hollow thud as he finally lets go.

He stands motionless. His whole body shivering, waiting… as a pair of crimson red eyes meet his.

Derek growls deep in his throat and Jackson's skin shivers with strange, sweet agitation, a slow, feverish shudder licking down his spine. His Alpha approaches him in a slow, even pace and time seems to slow down. Everything around him disappears and suddenly all Jackson is aware of are a pair of blood red orbs that burn like embers in the thick darkness.

Then everything falls apart.

It happens so suddenly, so unexpectedly and fast that Jackson cannot even try to fight it.

The cold, sticky fingers of panic curl and tighten around his throat and it feels like the earth falls from beneath his feet. He pants heavily and his chest clenches as a sudden pang of nausea hits him a like a ton of bricks. Jackson gasps sharply, his stomach rolling painfully as he lets out a hollow whimper and doubles over. It feels like all those times before, all those times when he wakes up gasping for air, with tight, hoarse throat and burning lungs.

Yet, it is nothing like them at all.

It is raw and fierce, it is more merciless and agonizing than any of the previous times Jackson remembers.

He doesn't even feel when he hits the ground. The crushing pain in his chest is so intense, so overwhelming and corrupting that he is unable to focus on anything else. He convulses violently, covered in drying blood fingers digging into the wet soil as a hoarse, pained sob leaves his throat.

There are muffled voices around him, shouts and growls and warm hands curling around his middle, cupping his face, turning him to his side. His throat is burning, tight, constricting and he nearly cries out when his stomach rolls painfully again.

Hot tears roll down his cheeks as a pair of long fingers is urgently shoved into his mouth, down his throat, as far as they would go. Jackson gags violently and shudders as he is forced to vomit, blood and bile and meat leaving his body in painful, burning fits. The arms around him tighten, hold him closer as his whole body contracts and convulses. It feels as though hours pass before he finally feels it letting up. The raw sound of his dry heaving obscene, loud, ugly and tearing at the heavy silence.

"Breathe! Breathe, Jackson!"

He lets out a hollow gasp and curls in a fetal position, the pain in his chest too much to bear. His vision is blurry and unfocused, he cannot see anything but darkness. It is thick, pitch black and cold and it reaches for him, caresses his throat with cold bonny fingers. Then it clutches at him viciously.

He is suffocating.

"Come on, Jacks! Breathe! Goddamn it! Breathe!"

Exhaustion curls in his muscles, heavy as lead and Jackson lets it swallow him. He feels so tired, so very tired…

"Jackson, please!"

His whole body goes slack in the arms that are still clutching at him desperately. There are fingers stroking his face, warm and urgent and frantic and Jackson whimpers before his whole body convulses weakly for a last time. The faint glow of red and gold swim before his vision before his eyes roll back in their sockets.

Then everything goes black.

 

* * *

 

They say that time heals everything but there is no one other than Jackson Whittemore who knows without a doubt that this is a total lie. No matter how much time passes, no matter what the others do or say it is still the same. That nameless, corrupting terror is still there, lurking inside his head, throbbing in his chest.

He hardly sleeps anymore. Sleep eludes him and Jackson does not seek it for fear or what it might bring. The rare times when it does happen, when exhaustion manages to overpower him he is swallowed by nightmares, nightmares that have him waking up screaming and gasping for air.

So he fights it. He fights the fatigue wrapping around his body with everything he has, for as long as he is able to until it's unbearable, until it finally crushes him like a tidal wave without mercy or chance of escape.

But there is something worse than the nightmares.

Jackson knows that there is no hope. He understood it in the moment when he realized that he no longer feared the darkness surrounding him.

Now Jackson fears the darkness hiding inside of him, the darkness buried somewhere deep within his chest.

He is horrified of the thought that if he falls asleep he might wake up days later, somewhere else, alone… with bloody hands and the taste of death on his tongue.

Fear is a scent clinging to his skin now, pumping through his veins, curled inside his chest. Jackson knows that no matter how hard he tries to cover it they all can smell it on him, sense it, taste it in the air. It is one more thing that singles him out, one more thing indicating that he is not one of them and never will be.

He is not a monster anymore but he knows he always will be one in their eyes.

Jackson is a werewolf. Something he keeps telling himself every single day.

He is a werewolf. He is in the pack. He is a werewolf.

The monster is dead.

It died six months ago.

Pierced by claws, murdered… annihilated.

The monster is dead.

Yet, Jackson fears its return every single time he closes his eyes.

 

* * *

 

The silence is heavy, soothing, thick and fluid, sliding against his skin, filling his ears. Everything is dulled, colorless, fleeting... Jackson feels weightless. He is dizzy and empty, so wonderfully empty and light. There is no pain, no darkness, no nothing. Just silence, silence that swallows him, that wraps around him like a blanket and fills the emptiness within his chest.

Suddenly he hears the dull throbbing echo of a sound. It grows louder, heavier and stronger. It comes closer and Jackson wants to scramble away. To escape. To hide from it. It sounds like the terrible, wild roar of waves crashing against cliffs. It is deafening, it fills his head, pounds in his ears.

_Boom… Boom… Boom_

He wants to curl into a ball. To cover his ears, to make it stop. He wants it to go away.

_Boom… Boom… Boom….. Boom_

The rhythm grows faster, more urgent and punishing.  It scares him. It comes closer and closer and closer and he cannot escape. Cannot hide. Cannot bear it.

Jackson screams and the sound of his own shattered voice brings him to the surface.

His chest hurts and there is water raining on his face, running down his neck, soaking his clothes. His eyes snap open and everything is so bright, so harsh, so cold. He wants to go back to where he was. He wants the silence back, he wants the colorless soothing dizziness, he wants-

"Easy, Jackson." A gruff familiar voice whispers in his ear, strong arms holding him in place, clutching at him securely. "Don't you slip away again." There is a faint scratch of stubble against his cheek and Jackson unconsciously leans against it, gasps when his head is filled with that maddening, heavy rhythm again. It beats like a drum against his temples, hammers wildly in his chest, tries to break his ribs from the inside.

It is his heart.

He tries to move but his limbs won't comply. Everything is so wet, so slippery and cold that he clings harder to the wide warm chest pressed against his, his nails digging into the hot flesh of a pair of muscular shoulders. His whole body is shivering, clothes soaked, heavy with water, dragging him down.

Jackson forces himself to look around, his vision still blurry as he breathes heavily. Water  is cascading down his back, filling his already drenched sneakers, licking down his spine. He cannot stop shivering, he is freezing, the only source of warmth being the firm body pressed against his, the strong thighs under his, the warm lap he is sitting in. He tries to move again but his limbs feel heavy, uncoordinated, weak.

A hand cups his chin and he feels warm breath against his lips.

"D-Derek..." He barely manages to stutter out. A pair of hazel eyes holds his gaze steadily and Jackson blinks slowly a couple of times, shivers again when a large warm hand slides up his back and under his soaked shirt.

"You passed out."

He bends his head, exhales heavily, his eyes falling on his hands fisted in the other male's shirt. Seconds pass, a minute before his foggy mind registers what he is seeing. Jackson feels his chest clench obnoxiously and his numb hands curl into shaky fists. His wet sleeves are stained with dark brick red to the elbows. His hands are almost clean, almost… He can still feel _it_ under his nails, over the tender skin between his fingers, under the sleeves where the water hasn't reached _it_ , has been unable to wash _it_ away. Jackson feels his whole body starting to shake. His nostrils flare and it feels like a pair of white hot rods are shoved up his nose as his senses suddenly fill with the sickening coppery smell of dried blood.

"No.. No… No… No… " He pulls away jerkily before Derek can stop him and his back hits the cold tiled wall of the bathroom with a dull thud. His gaze slides anxiously over the edges of the bath tub where dark, crimson red, finger shaped marks mar the snow white porcelain. "Not again…. Please… no….I… I didn't… "

"Jackson-"

Jackson sobs brokenly, tries to stand up and fails miserably when his unsteady feet slide over the smooth slick surface of the tub. The water is ice cold against his skin as he pulls at his shirt with shaking, frantic hands, struggles to take it off.

It is dirty, heavy, covered in blood, soaked, dark with it. Reeks like it.

"Take it off!" His hands are numb, uncoordinated and weak when he pulls urgently at the hem of his shirt. "I can't…. I can't…. please….. Derek, I can’t….Take it off!" The sobs wrenching out of his chest with painful shuddering gasps. "I can't... I can't... please.... please.... please, Derek...." 

He nearly cries out in both shock and relief when Derek's fingers suddenly fist in the wet material of his shirt. The sharp sound of fabric being ripped apart echoing loudly through the bathroom as Derek literally tears the shirt off his body with a low growl and throws it in the direction of the closed door. Jackson is shivering all over, skin pale and covered in goose flesh, lips turning blue and thighs quivering as he stays pressed flush against the cold bathroom wall opposite from Derek.

They stare at each other for an endless moment. Jackson feels himself growing fainter, even more lightheaded. Derek's eyes don't leave his and there is something in that gaze, something deep and sharp and scary, something Jackson cannot read or identify. The Alpha kneels in the tub, jeans as soaked as Jackson's, water dripping down his face, sliding down his neck. Derek reaches for him, keeps his hands so that Jackson can see them, slow and careful as if motioning to touch a skittish animal.

The shock of his warm fingers against Jackson's cold cheek is overwhelming, it feels almost too much. Jackson flinches, quivers as his legs give out again and his whole body slumps weakly. But Derek is already there and Jackson lets out a pained sob, shakes convulsively when a pair of warm arms wrap around his shivering figure.

"I didn't… tell me I didn't … please…" His voice sounds alien, coarse and broken in his own ears." Please… please tell me I didn't…."

"It was an animal." The Alpha whispers, breath hot in Jackson's ear. "It was an animal." Derek says over and over and over again and Jackson falls apart in his arms, cries like a child. His body is shaking with the force of his spasms and shivers, and he presses closer and closer and closer as if trying to mold himself to the man's chest, to disappear.

"It was an animal, Jackson! A deer, it was a deer not human. It was not a human!"

He loses a measure of time. All he knows is that Derek is rocking him in his embrace, squeezing him, nearly crushing him against his chest. The water is ice cold, drenching them both, beating mercilessly against their shoulders.

"You didn't hurt anyone, Jackson! It was an animal!"

Jackson's whole body is painfully numb, voice raw and burned out from sobbing by the time his crying appeases. Derek holds him through it all, not letting go even for a second, hands stroking up and down the boy's back in slow, soothing motions.

He is exhausted, barely conscious when Derek suddenly gathers his shivering body closer, if that is possible, and stands up from the bath tub. Jackson clings to his Alpha like a drowning man to a straw, with all the strength that is left in his weak body, with shaking hands, with numb fingers, with nails that dig into Derek's shoulders in desperation.

Derek doesn't say a single word as he carries him out of the bathroom and Jackson buries his face into the man's neck anxiously, breathing heavy and irregular, eyes squeezed tightly shut.

There are the muffled, jumbled sounds of voices around him, questions being asked, murmurs of concern and shock and Jackson quivers, presses even closer, body shivering against Derek's large form. He can smell them clearly, smell their pity, the stench of their fear and confusion. It makes him sick, it makes his stomach roll, it makes him-

"Out." Derek's voice is a low, gurgling growl that vibrates down Jackson's spine. "All of you."

Boyd, Isaac and Erica leave, without protests, without uttering a single word and Jackson's fingers relax their grip on Derek's shoulders, nails no longer biting at the Alpha's flesh. The dull sound of the door being closed echoes through the quiet room and there is blissful silence again just the steady thud of Derek's heartbeat and a scent, a warm familiar smell that Jackson knows so well now.

"Scott-"

"I am not one of your betas. You cannot order me out."

Derek merely grunts at that and Jackson's breath hitches, face pressing against Derek's neck as he feels warm hands stroking his back timidly, rubbing at the cold skin of his arms, brushing through his wet hair as if checking whether he is still in one piece, whether it is really him. The chilling numbness in his limbs ebbs away, leaving only exhaustion and dull throbbing ache in its wake. He is lowered on clean sheets, in his own, small rust eaten bed, as hands remove his drenched shoes, pull at his heavy with water jeans, remove his socks. He lies there, quiet and motionless, unresisting, shivering and naked as the day he was born.

Jackson is too exhausted and weak to feel self conscious. He is beyond shame, beyond caring or feeling exposed. Derek and Scott have seen him in his worst. They have seen him fall apart, seen him bawl and cry and beg like a child. They are the only ones who know, who actually realize how broken, wrecked and fucked up Jackson really is.

There is a faint sound of rustling before he feels soft warmth being wrapped around his shivering body, tucked tightly around his hips. Jackson curls into a ball, keeps his eyes closed, tries to shut everything around him out. He doesn't know how long he lies like this, silent, unmoving, on the brim of consciousness.

"Open your eyes, Jackson." Is suddenly whispered in his ear and he fists his hands in the blanket, fingers aching as warmth starts slowly seeping through his flesh. He wills his heavy eyelids to open, his vision blurry and unfocused as he inhales deeply. A hand strokes at his cheek, the touch so soft that he barely feels it before it disappears.

"S-Scott…" His voice is scratchy, weak, hoarse from crying. Scott scoots closer, and Jackson can feel his knees bump against his, warm finger tips trailing the knuckles of Jackson's rigid cold hands. Soft brown orbs stare at him, openly, intently, filled with so much concern that Jackson can barely stand it, his teeth sinking harshly into his bottom lip as Scott presses their foreheads together.

"You scared the shit out of me." Scott whispers, voice strained and husky, moist breath filling Jackson's mouth.

He says nothing, words are lost to him and his eyes fall closed as he feels Scott pulling him closer, arms wrapping around him like so many times before. It is familiar, yet different, so much different. Jackson wants to jerk away but can't find the strength and will to. He does not know how to handle this, how to cope with the way his heart stutters, the way his chest swells in an unfamiliar way when Scott's eyes hold his.

"You stopped breathing, Jackson."

He barely remembers anything, everything feels foggy, distant like a dream, like a nightmare. His temples are throbbing painfully, body still numb, heavy and aching.

The blood he does remember though, the feel of it, the taste of it on his tongue and the darkness, the nameless terror crawling over his skin. He remembers the feeling of the earth disappearing from under his feet, the crushing blinding pain in his chest, the cold bony clutch around his throat.

A barely audible sigh leaves his throat.

He is tired. Jackson is tired of fighting, of pretending that he can handle this. He is so tired of it all, so sick of being scared, of feeling weak and vulnerable. The seizures always leave him broken, empty, drained from will to actually keep struggling. Every time when the blackness swallows him, every time when the air is stolen away from his lungs he wonders whether it is his last, whether this is going to be the last painful fall into the abyss.

And the thought does not scare him anymore. For two months now he finds himself hoping for it to happen, hoping for the next seizure to finally crush him, to leech his life the same way it leeches his dignity and sanity… to finally kill him and put an end of the agony he lives in.

Jackson is tired. He is tired of being broken and useless, of pretending he is alright… of waking up.

"When you blacked out I thought… I thought-"

"That I was gonna die." Jackson croaks and it is not a question.

Scott remains silent. He doesn't say anything but Jackson can see his eyes widening with anxiety, feel the arms around him tightening considerably, fingers digging in his lower back through the thick blanket.

"It would have been better for all of us if I had." Jackson breathes out, eyes falling closed, not bearing to hold Scott's gaze anymore.

It would have been better for all of them, especially for Jackson, if Peter and Derek had finished what they had started, if they had went through with it. They should have ended him there and then. He should have died that night, six months ago. Jackson had been ready, he had known that it had been best, he had accepted his fate, welcomed it like a long waited relief.

It would have been fast, painless, merciful. Instead he had woken up as something else, not a Kanima, but not human either. Derek had let him live and Jackson was never going to forget the Alpha's eyes from that night, the way Derek had looked at him in that first moment of clarity, part dismay, part relief, part something Jackson had no name for.

Derek let him live, spared him and by that proved more cruel than he would ever know. It is all his fault. His doing. By letting Jackson live Derek had condemned him to the agony that his life has become, to the hell he wakes up to every single day.

Scott's mouth falls open at Jackson's words. And it still strikes Jackson how innocent and pure, how real and human Scott is, even though he is a werewolf now. Scott bends his head, nose brushing against Jackson's as he inhales deeply as if readying himself to speak up but a gruff voice beats him to it.

"That is not an option." Derek's voice is husky, rough, thick with underlying anger. He is covering it well and if Jackson had not spent so much time around him he wouldn't have noticed.

"Nobody asked you to-"

 "What I should have done, Jackson? Watch you convulse to death? Watch you drown in your own vomit?"

"Yes." He summons the strength to growl, hands pushing against Scott's chest as he pulls away from the other boy. Sudden aggravation crawls over his skin, fueled by Derek's words, and Jackson's jaw clenches. His thighs are still quivering, hands shaking as he forces his exhausted body into sitting position, the blanket pooling in his lap.

Derek is standing by the window. His silhouette harsh and dark against the soft light of the bleeding dawn.  He is clad in dry, black T-shirt now, a pair of sweat pants hanging low on his hips, arms folded over his wide chest, the posture doing little to conceal his barely contained anger.

"Who gave you right to-"

"Save your life!?" Derek roars suddenly, and Jackson cannot suppress the flinch that jerks at his body. Derek's eyes flash red, and Jackson can smell it in the air, almost taste it, rage and bitter frustration.  

"What the fuck are you thinking, Jackson!? You are pack-"

"I am sick of this. This is what I am." He rasps before he can stop himself. His throat is raw, sore, every word leaving his lips hoarse and scratchy. Everything is spilling forth now, all the pain he has been holding back for half a year, all the fear and the numbing exhaustion he has fought for so long. The mask falls. The pretense is gone. For a moment it feels like he will fall apart, fall apart at the seams without the illusion of ever getting over it to hold him together.

"I want it to end. I can't do this anymore… I won't."

"Jacks-"

Arms motion to wrap around his middle, and he fights it when Scott tries to pull him closer, to sooth him. Jackson hates it. He hates the way his body reacts to the touch. He hates the sickening need he feels in the pit of his stomach, the horrible false feeling of security it gives him, he hates the fact that he actually wants it, wants someone to care for him. It scares him. It is stupid, naïve, ridiculous… It is pathetic.

"Don't touch me, McCall!"

He nearly falls off the bed as he scrambles as away from the other boy as possible, he cannot bear Scott's touch, not now. His chest is heaving harshly and it hurts, somewhere deep and dark within, it hurts.

 A hollow groan leaves his throat as his back hits the headboard. Jackson squeezes his eyes tightly shut, hands coming up to cover his face as hot tears start rolling down his cheeks in slow hot lines and he cannot do anything to stop them.

Heavy silence falls over the room and Jackson can hear the sound of his own tears sinking in the thick blanket. Neither Derek nor Scott say anything and he feels the overwhelming urge to run away, to escape. He would have if he knew his legs would carry him.

He has no idea how much time passes before the mattress at the foot of the bed dips. Derek's scent comes stronger now, closer. Jackson lets out a shaky breath, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he moves further away, nearly flattens himself against the headboard.

"I never wanted this. Not this... not like that…" He breathes out, rigid hands fisting in the covers as he eventually meets the Alpha's gaze. "I never wanted to be a monster."

"You are not a monster, Jackson." It is Scott who whispers huskily and Jackson's eyes fall closed, shoulders stiffening. "No more than any of us."

Sometimes it comes to him in flashes, sharp and raw glimpses into foggy moments where he has no control over his body, where he is locked inside the monster. He hears and sees everything but he cannot do anything to stop the inevitable. And when he is between sleeping and being awake, when he is barely conscious and still shivering after the umpteenth seizure he hears them. Isaac's father, the mechanic, the woman whose husband he gutted before her very eyes. Her screams echo inside his head,  and he can almost smell the suffocating stink of her fear.

_Do monsters feel sickened by what they've done?_

_Do they regret it?_

_Does it all come back to them to haunt them?_

Jackson shakes his head harshly, draws his legs to his chest.

"Just leave me alone. Back off. Let me fucking-"

"Die." Derek whispers and it is not a question. His voice is more controlled now, yet grave, husky. The Alpha averts his gaze, chest swelling with deep intake of air as his eyes fall closed for a short moment and he pinches the bridge of his nose.

Jackson nods even though Derek is not looking. It feels strangely relieving to finally admit it, to eventually confess it in front of others. They have never talked about it, never mentioned it. Acknowledging it now makes it real, makes it tangible, gives it a shape and a form. And for once in his life Jackson is not afraid. He is ready. He is ready in the same way he had been six months ago when they had failed to put an end of what they had started.

"No." Derek growls short and low.

Jackson's lips fall open and for a moment he loses his voice, throat tightening.

"What?"

"I said no, Jackson. I cannot let you do this."

"I am not asking for permission." Jackson rasps. "You are no one to- "

"I am your Alpha!" Derek roars suddenly through clenched teeth, the scent of his anger flaring is like a slap in the face and Jackson pulls the blanket tighter around himself. Derek's hot fingers suddenly curl around his thin ankles and Jackson barely manages to gasp before he is forcefully dragged to the foot of the bed.

Jackson hears Scott growling deep in his throat but the sound seems distant, far away, as Derek's hands slide up his calves, grip at his thighs. The Alpha's eyes are a deep, burning red and Jackson is suddenly transfixed, frozen and breathless. Somewhere dark and deep inside his subconscious his wolf whines and cowers. The wolf within him craves to submit, to please his Alpha, to sooth his anger. Jackson feels nauseous, overwhelmed. The effort to keep himself from bearing his throat and whimpering in submission nearly makes him dizzy. Derek is so close now that Jackson can taste his hot breath, feel the heat of his skin, smell his anger and frustration, the bitter tang of his desperation. Derek's hands feel scorching against the cool skin of his quivering thighs, and Jackson can feel his heart in his throat, lips sinking into his bottom lip as he barely suppresses the overwhelming urge to press his knees together.

"D-Derek-"

"What I gave you is a gift."The Alpha whispers, and Jackson feels the hint of sharp claws brushing against his skin, a shiver crawling up his spine. His breath is harsh, fast and shallow, and it feels like there is not enough air in the room.

"What you gave me turned me into a monster." Jackson manages to grit out. And his chest lurches painfully when the wolf inside him whines. It trashes and begs for him to come to his senses, to hold his tongue. Derek growls, deep, low and feral and the sound of it is bouncing off the walls, echoing inside Jackson's head. Jackson shivers harshly and it feels like his heart is trying to erupt through his ribcage, to hammer its way out. His numb fingers fist anxiously in the blanket as he tries to draw his legs to his chest, but Derek won't let him, the Alpha holds him into place, drags him closer.

"Derek , stop it!" Scott roars. "You are scaring him."       

"You are not even supposed to be here." Derek rumbles thickly as he turns his head and glares at Scott, eyes flashing red, sharp canines on display. "This is pack business and you are not part of the pack, Scott. Go home."

"No. I told you I won't-"

"Then keep your mouth shut and stay out of it!"

Scott remains silent, eyes flashing gold and jaw clenching as he lets out a low growl.  Jackson does not dare move, does not dare breathe when Derek turns his head to look at him again, his expression softening ever so slightly, teeth sheathed.

"Jackson-"

"Since when do you give a fuck?" Jackson hears himself whisper in a sudden moment of courage, voice weak and scratchy as he stares at his Alpha's eyes, looking for an answer, for an explanation. "You hate me. You fucking tried to kill me, Derek! Why do you suddenly care now!?"

Derek does not answer, does not even move as his grip on Jackson's thighs relaxes, eyes falling closed for a second as he lets out a heavy sigh. The silence stretches for a long moment, a long moment in which the only thing Jackson can hear is the Alpha's heart pounding in his head. 

"He cares." Scott says in a hushed tone and Jackson's lips fall open, eyes shifting to Scott whose expression is grave, yet strangely soft. "He cares more than he should, Jackson."

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Here is the first part of my sequel to Hard as Breathing. It belongs to the same verse but both pieces can be read as stand alones. I still have a lot of work to do until I finish the second chapter but I hope I will be able to upload it soon. Again, I have self-betaed my story, so all mistakes you find are mine and mine only. 
> 
> As I've mentioned before, at least a thousand times, I am an ardent Halemore shipper. This story is one of my first and I am still gaining a feeling for both Jackson and Derek and how to write them together. I am doing my best, I just hope that it is enough. Hope you have enjoyed reading my stuff. :) 
> 
> I also want to thank BdrixHaettC for her support, help and wonderful advices. Thank you so much, dear. Also, once again, thank you so much for the amazing picture you drew for me. You are trully amazing! Thank you!


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